Unchanged
by CalliopesCreature
Summary: Loki's thoughts after reigning Asgard for some time... did he really make the right choice?


It's all very strange lately.

The worlds are changing, tides bloom, last and die. Years go by.

Everything changes. But Loki does not change. He remains as he is.

He climbs the palace floors on gold brocade stairs, his palm a constant shadow over the balustrade. He never touches. He won't touch until a real risk to stumble or fall arises, only then he will long for a hold, something/someone to stop.

But will it still be there to catch him then?

Loki deals with more weighty issues than this, so he will not even think about it until it happens. An unhealthy attitude? Carefree? Maybe both. Maybe neither. (Only time will tell.)

His pulse beats quietly and steadily under his skin as he arrives at the upper floor. It's not difficult for him, even if it should make him feel sloppery as _an old man_ , but here are no witnesses and he has no hurrying servants to give audition about his frail dignity. Odin's appearance expresses itself as an illusory shell stuck on his temples and sometimes he even forgets to take off this disguise before he goes to bed late at night. Nevertheless he enjoys every minute he may be unobserved in this form.

He has heard that Thor had married the mortal. He has heard there had been a glorious banquet. He has heard they were unbearably happy.  
…

He has heard they had children.

But what he'll hear soon, will be Thor's roar of agony when he first carries his human wife, then his human children to their graves. Even the life span of demigods is a joke compared to the aesire pureblood. It's a curse, one can not escape. The penalty for too long breath.  
Loki knew the end of this relationship before Thor even started it. Loki knows much of what the Norns only whisper behind their wrinkled hands. He knows when he will die. He knows when Thor will to die. He must be lucky that it does not drive him mad.

He is fully aware of that knowledge for Ragnarok is an ultimatum and deadlines as these are non-negotiable.

He would sometimes still like to try out – to save, to change his fate, just for fun. But for this he would have to reveal himself and give his reign a bitter end. It's not worth it.

He crosses the magnificent corridors, his fingers clinging to velvet and fine wood carvings, fired with drunken red and shimmering silver, an emerald chandelier stocked over his head and trophies from old days. He doesn't care about the wealth, got used to it like the poor get used to gnaw on some crusts of bread. (Dry bread makes cheeks red) He goes and goes until glass leaves, thin as the exoskeleton of an insect, open up in front of him, and he steps onto the balcony. The wind of early evening breathes in his ears, pulls with shrill whisper on the fringes of his deranged beard. He feels cold not like other creatures do, but he realizes that it stands next to him, looking at him with a toothless grin. He clenches his lined fist tightly around Gungnir, touches the material of the sacred / powerful artifact gently. It's quiet around and within him. Previously, he had welcomed this silence, felt pleasantly about it. Now he feels ... nothing. Or very little.

He leans his arms against the railing and feel the eruptions of the palace tingle in his bones. Under him the simmers and hums of people. _His_ people that think they know him so bitterly well and actually have no idea of what snaky monstrosity governs and guides them day after day. Their beloved, foolish king died by Loki's hand decades ago.

Loki cranes his edgy skull into heaven, tastes the air. Grains of dust beneath his teeth and frost-covered mud on his tongue.

Winter is coming. Soon.

Loki bows his head and stares down into the depths of despair. And, all of a sudden, he wonders how many seconds it would take to jump from this dizzying height and to hit the hard stone floor. These are dismal thoughts, but calculating the duration of a mathematician - probably a far too little exercise. Loki is not a scholar. He is pleased about such considerations though, but at this moment it doesn't matter much anymore. The end result would be the same. Dead is dead. Even frost giants are not shatterproof.

He thinks of Thor. How it would break his heart to hear that his father had perished in such a dishonorable way. Suicide. It doesn't suit for an _Odin Borson_.

Loki digs his nails into the railing, a promise for the last time. Then he lets go, sighs without sound. He raises his hand to greet Heimdall, who observes him from his guard post with eagle eyes. Then he turns around and goes back inside, into his beautiful, bare cage. He hears the door close behind him and thinks for a moment to hear rattling dungeon chains. He realizes, as he has so often before that he merely changed a prison on earth for a prison in heaven. No one visits him here. Not Frigga. Not Thor. Nobody. He can only wait for Ragnarok. He waits and waits and waits.

It's all very strange lately.

The worlds are changing, tides bloom, last and die. Years go by.

Everything changes. But Loki does not change. He remains as he is.

And he remains alone.


End file.
